Houses of the Holy: A Destiel One-Shot
by Iliary Tryvggi
Summary: Dean Winchester decides it's time to go to confession. Not to apologize for ganking all that unnatural shit out there or leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him, but to get off his chest one really hot night that he can't forget. Tempus paenitentia, peccator.


"I'll only be a minute," Dean said as he slid himself out of the Impala.

Sam huffed in the passenger seat, his laptop already out and trying to find a signal. "Since when do you go to church, Dean?"

Slamming the door a bit harder than necessary, Dean turned back to his brother and stated simply, "I have something on my mind."

Before Sam could ask any more questions, Dean strolled off towards the large, rundown, ancient-looking church.

Stained glass windows everywhere depicted battles long past, always with righteous blood being spilled. In between the many windows, the stone and mortar building with fading bricks sat patiently, silently. In the small community, the church stood out like a sore thumb, but it looked like an all-seeing guardian of the town, even if it had seen better days.

Dean chuckled to himself as he made his way up the stone steps. He really needed to get some sleep, because his mind was apparently all warped from hunting a werewolf for the past week.

Inside, the church was packed. Hundreds of people, it looked like, had come for Mass. All had their heads bowed. Only one of them was speaking, and it was an older priest at the altar, speaking in Latin.

"Crappy Latin, at that," Dean grumbled judgingly. He knew damn well that his Latin wasn't any better, but compared to Sam, this guy was an amateur.

He quietly walked behind the rows and rows of churchgoers to the confessional booth and closed the door behind him with a small _snick_.

Not even a minute later, the little window opened, revealing a worn screen and an anonymous priest behind it.

Still unsure of how to do this, Dean cleared his throat awkwardly and stated, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

A raspy, masculine voice replied, "Go on."

"Uh, actually, I've never done this before, so bear with me, 'kay?"

An amused chuckle came from the other side of the booth. "Are you not a Catholic?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and wished he had thought this through before doing it. "Uh, no."

The priest replied, "Don't be ashamed. Everyone starts somewhere. Just tell me when you're ready."

He sat back and thought of how crazy this was. What the hell was he doing in the confessional, pouring his heart out to some strange dude who wore dresses and probably liked little boys?

Inhaling deeply, Dean began. "Okay, so you know I sinned. That isn't exactly a secret, 'cause 'Sin' is basically my middle name."

"Go on."

Dean adjusted his leather jacket and made a face at himself. Why was this so hard?

He could hear the smile in the priest's voice as he urged him along. "It's only difficult if you make it so. Think of it like telling a story."

"How di—nevermind. Okay, so I'm a straight guy. Trust me, I've had my fair share of the ladies, if you know what I mean."

The other side of the confessional was silent.

"Of course you don't know what I mean. Shit, sorry. Fuck, I said shit. Goddamnit, I said fuck. Shit, I said Godda—great. I know I'm going to hell now. Again."

Chuckling, the faceless voice replied, "I wasn't always celibate, my son. As for the language, while God doesn't approve, he doesn't damn just for that. The blasphemy though, you should watch."

"'Scuse me, Padre, but this is kinda out of my element."

Dryly, the priest replied, "I couldn't tell."

Emboldened, Dean continued. "Well, I have this job that takes me around the country, right? So I was about three towns over this past week, and the night before last, I went out for a drink. It was the first bar I found, and it was only after I sat in the booth that I realized it wasn't your average strip club."

He paused, trying to hide his smile from the probably-unamused priest.

"There were also guys dancing, which was totally weird. But a bar's a bar, and I wanted a drink, so I sat and had a beer or eight.

"But then this guy came on stage, and man, I don't even know. He was tall, tan, black hair, kind of muscular build, and he was dressed as a priest. Man, you don't even know what kind of clergy kink I have. Oh—sorry Father."

The voice simply answered, "Go on."

"I mean, it's always been chicks dressed like nuns, but this was hot. I mean, really hot. He was dancing to one of my favorite Led Zeppelin songs, too. 'Houses of the Holy', from Physical Graffiti, which is definitely their best album."

Dean adjusted his jeans at this point, because he was getting worked up already. Fuck, this was gonna be awkward if he left the confessional with a hard on.

"Anyway, he did this dance—fuck. His shoulders and hips swayed, and he mouthed the words to the song. Every time Page let loose that filthy little riff, he thrust his hips. His body rolled with the music like no one I'd ever seen, and he stripped like a fuckin' pro.

"He stripped off his clothes so sensually that I actually couldn't look away. All he was left with was that little collar and some tight black boxer briefs that didn't hide shit. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his body as he backed into the pole and ground against it, throwing his head every which way as Plant sang, his expression passionate as he mouthed the words.

"He wasn't as all-over the stage as some strippers I'd seen, but he was into it. I mean, he was more into it than anyone there, and that said a lot."

Dean felt his jeans tenting, and he adjusted himself again. "Maybe I should just skip the next part." he offered.

Clearing his throat, the priest responded, "Son, if you're confessing your sins, you have to be clear about it. You cannot just say you sinned and that's that. You must detail it before a man of God so he can offer you salvation."

Afraid the priest was going to say that, Dean exhaled. "Alright, I'll go on. Anyway, so after the song ended, this dancer collected his tips and left the stage. I realized I had to get a private dance, because no guy had ever done this to me before.

"So I offered up a good two hundred bucks to the bouncer, and he got me a private room. I walked inside and looked around as I waited, checking out the room. Everything was silver and red, and there was a single chair in the center with a couch against the wall.

"I took a seat, and not a minute later, the dancer walked in and without looking at me, started fiddling with an iPod. He asked me what I wanted to listen to, and I replied that 'Houses of the Holy' was what I wanted to hear. On repeat.

"He put it on and walked over, in full priest costume. I was harder than a rock, and it didn't get better when he straddled my lap and ground into me. I guess I must've looked nervous or something, because he leaned down and whispered over the music, 'Am I your first?'

Dean realized he was kneading his dick through his pants with the heel of his hand, simultaneously trying to get off and calm down. This was a mess. Why was he still here? Sam must be annoyed by now, and he's probably in the church, looking for him.

"Do you need a minute?" the priest inquired.

How embarrassing. The priest probably knew he was hot and bothered, and he couldn't walk out now. Not with the wood he was sporting.

"Uh, I'm fine. Where was I?"

Chuckling, the priest replied, "You were telling me about the lap dance."

"Oh yeah. So he grinds down on me and I'm barely able to stifle a moan as I reply that yeah, he's my first guy.

"He looks at me, and he has these amazing blue eyes. Like, the bluest blue to ever blue—and trust me, I know how cheesy that sounds. But these eyes man, they hooked me in.

"So he says, 'Well, I've got something special planned. New sinners are the best sinners.' And he stared at me with this sexy little smile the whole time, except when he turned around.

"He would turn and basically sit on my lap, rocking his hips back and forth into my dick. Oh God it felt amazing. He knew just how to do it. Not too much pressure, not too little. He'd thrust back against me a few times and then he'd do a one-eighty and face me again.

"With one hand, he'd grip my shoulder, and the other would grab hold of my waist. He'd sit himself back down on me, and I could tell he was hard. Like, he could've been smuggling a lead pipe in those pants for all I know."

Without saying so, Dean acknowledged that he was just as hard. His hand had gone from kneading it down to clutching and caressing it through his worn jeans.

"When he went to take off the outfit, I told him to keep it on. His face was so pure, that even though he was biting his lip and touching himself through his slacks, he still looked like a priest.

"He looked at me, his hand rubbing his pants almost absent-mindedly, and he murmured in my ear, 'Do you have any sins to confess?'

Groaning at both the feeling in his lap and the memory, Dean went on. "I told him that yes, I had some sins to confess, so he told me to get on my knees. I'd never been with a dude, remember, but I've been with plenty of chicks, and I knew where this was heading, stripper or not.

"So I got down on my knees, and he handed me a rosary. He ordered, 'Every time you get to the base, count a bead. Every time you gag, go back one. If you get all the way around and I've yet to come, you'll have penance to do.'

"He pulls himself out of his pants, and he's huge. I knew he'd be big from what his boxer briefs had implied, but fuck. He was longer than me, but not quite so thick. The curved tip was glistening and wet, so I took a swipe at it with my tongue. He let out this rich groan, and I had to do it again. That sound was like sex itself.

"And keep in mind I'm going off what I know and like, right?"

The priest was silent, until he realized Dean was actually asking for an answer. "Oh, uh, yes. Go on, my son."

At this point, Dean was just having fun regaling his story for the obviously horrified priest.

"I bob down on him once, and man, I was not prepared for it. That velvety rod slid between my jaws like it was meant to be, but I definitely didn't expect my gag reflex to act up. I have a whole new appreciation for every woman I've ever been with.

"But I started my count over, and I brought my mouth down more carefully this time. I was able to brush my nose against the small thatch of hair, but I couldn't go all the way down. I tried and tried, but no matter which angle I went at, I couldn't do it. I tried for an entire song, but I couldn't hit the bottom, and I was pissed.

"So I played with his balls a bit, getting a good feel for them. Round and tight, they were pretty nice, as far as balls go. They tasted like him: warm and rich, kind of like coconut? I don't know, but it was hot. I rolled them around in my mouth, flicking at them with my tongue as I pumped his shaft. Nipping the sack, I made my priest gasp and swear like a damned trucker until he was panting.

"I didn't want him to come too quickly, so I let them be and went back to his head. With my pointer finger and my thumb wrapped tight around the base, I slicked him up and bobbed down once or twice, twisting and sucking as I came up. I speared my tongue and traced along the underside, and he was pumping into my mouth, his hand wrapped in my hair so tight I thought I'd have a bald spot.

"'Come up,' he said. 'You failed to complete your prayers, so now it's time for your penance.'

"I wasn't really sure what that meant until he pulled me up—surprisingly strong for his size—and yanked my pants down. I thought he was gonna go down on me, but instead, he spun me around and gripping me by my hair, he pushed my upper body forward and pulled the rest of me back until his dick rested on my ass. He walked me to the couch, and told me to stay."

Dean gave up all appearances and started working his cock, trying to keep his voice level. He knew he was already going to hell again for this, but he might as well have some fun.

Clearing his throat, he inquired, "Hey, you with me, padre?"

The priest said tightly, "Yes, I am."

Smirking at the holy man's discomfort, Dean continued. "He walked back over to the shelf where the iPod was still playing, and he grabbed something off it. Flipping open a cap and pouring liquid into his hand, I realized it was lube, and that I was in for a ride, if you know what I mean.

"He completely doused his fingers, and then drizzled it onto my ass, right below my tailbone. It trickled down like warm water, and it was so fuckin' weird, but so fuckin' hot. He spread me open, and then put one finger at my entrance before asking, 'Is this okay?'"

Dean laughed, although he bit it short to hide the moan coming up. His body was shaking, and he needed release, but he was going to wait.

"I told him, 'If it wasn't okay, you wouldn't have your finger half-in my ass right now.' In response, he shoved one finger in me all the way to the knuckle, and fuck it hurt. I was tight, and since nothing's ever been shoved up there before, it felt really wrong, but in a good way. You know?

"He bent his finger and felt around, getting used to it. I knew he was stroking his dick because I heard the sound behind me, but also because I was getting a little love from myself, too. It was too hot not to, and I'm sure I would've died if I didn't.

"After a minute or two, he stuck a second finger in, and that's when I really felt that burn. I almost told him to stop, but he moaned, and holy shit his rough voice just rocked me to the core. So I bit my lip and he kept it up, scissoring and swiping, looking for something. It wasn't until he slid his third finger in that he found it, and when he found it, I kinda shouted a blasphemous statement or two. It was that fucking good.

"Without asking me if I was ready, he rolled on a condom and shoved right home. My knees basically gave at that, and he had to push me further onto the couch. When my entire upper body was on the couch, he thrust back in again, and I almost howled.

"He waited a minute, and then he rocked in and out slowly, seductively. Like he had all the time in the world. And then he stopped and whispered, 'Tim—'"

"_Tempus paenitentia_, _peccator_." the priest finished, his voice thick.

Dean's eyes widened, and the hand down his pants slowed to a stop. "Uh, how did you know that?"

"He said 'Time for penance, sinner,' didn't he?" asked the padre.

Nodding, Dean replied, "Yeah, but I didn't tell you he was speaking in Latin."

"I already knew," answered a raspy voice.

Fuck, was it really _him_? "You've gotta be shitting me."

"_Tempus paenitentia, peccator. _You've wasted time enough regaling to me our night together. Bend over, your back to the screen. Pull your pants down, and do as I say."

"Priest by day, stripper by night, huh? Kinky. I like." Dean replied, twice as hard as he was before. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down with his boxer briefs.

"Priesthood isn't a lucrative profession, and I feel it a shame for my other talents to go unnoticed. We don't have time for me to prepare you as thoroughly as I'd like. Will you manage?" the priest inquired as he unscrewed the screen easily and pushed it aside.

Chuckling at the convenience, Dean nodded as he bent over. "Do you have a condom? Lube?"

"God may smite me for this, but I always carry both."

Grinning like an aroused madman, Dean asked as the priest shifted his clothing and uncapped the lube, "What's your name, padre?"

"Castiel. My father, also a man of God, named me after Cassiel the archangel. Yours?"

Dean groaned his reply as Father Castiel prodded him with one finger, sliding into him with a little difficulty.

A man with a lot of kinks, Dean had thought he'd covered them all at least once. But getting fucked by an actual priest/stripper in a confessional booth, surrounded by hundreds of people attending mass in a church? This was his magnum opus—his crown jewel. This was going to be the most memorable fuck he'd ever had, and he only wished he could record it.

Curling his finger, Father Castiel worked him open enough for two fingers. He speared them inside the taller man, and scissored them back and forth, curling and twisting to find the spot that would make his confessor scream.

Introducing a third finger, the priest rubbed the rough pad of his fingers across Dean's insides, and he hit the spot. With a muffled curse, Dean's knees buckled, and he had to force himself to stay up.

"Fuck, Cas. I'm dyin' here."

Raising one black eyebrow, Castiel murmured, "Are you sure?"

Dean nodded fervently, needing to be filled. Needing to be fucked.

"Well, if you say so, then I'd have to say it's time for your penance." Father Castiel intoned in perfect Latin.

Pulling his fingers out, he soon replaced an empty Dean with his dick, his entrance smooth. The constriction of Dean's body tightening around him made him gasp and curse, any pleasure he'd gained from the man two nights before paling before this ultra-kinky hook-up.

Sucking in air between his teeth, Dean hissed, "Fuck me, Father."

An uncommon smirk grazing his face, Castiel replies against the confessional wall, "I am."

He waits a moment, and then pulls back, savoring the difference between the cool air on his lower self and the tight, wet heat of Dean's ass. Not even a minute later, Castiel fucks up into Dean through the confessional hole, ramming into him hard.

"Shit!" Dean panted, one arm braced against the wall of the confessional booth. The other hand was wrapped around his dick, trying to stave off one of the best orgasms of his life until he was ready. This was so hot he didn't think he could wait much longer.

"Shush, my son," Castiel advised, "We must be quiet."

Swearing under his breath, Dean leaned forward, and rocked back into the padre's pelvis, the sensation of his dick bottoming out causing him to bite his lip until he bled.

Growling almost silently, Father Castiel thrust forward and pulled back at an agonizingly slow pace, relishing the other man quivering around him in want. Establishing a good, quick pace, he hurried to get them both off.

"God, yes." Dean moaned.

Castiel leaned into the wall as he rode his confessor harder and faster. He could hear Father Macklin going on about hellfire and damnation, and if he said he didn't get a bit harder at the thought of his current sin, he would be lying through his teeth.

The fire between them was blazing out of control, and he couldn't bear to fuck into Dean any slower than he was. His toes were curling, his tongue was cursing and blaspheming, and his dick was twitching, begging for release. Sweat rolled down his back under his robes, and the condom wanted to roll up, as if fate was telling him to bareback the almost-stranger.

Dean wasn't in any better shape, the sweat on his brow dripping to the wooden floor. He couldn't try to be quiet if he wanted, so he just bit into his leather jacket sleeve, hoping no one would hear his begging and whimpering. He pushed back at the priest every time he would pull out, and he'd graze his spot.

His muscles ached, and his cock was harder than diamond. There was a pulsing in his ears that drowned out almost everything but his priest's panting. He heard faint swears exit the other man's lips, but he couldn't make out anything definite other than a lot of Latin.

Thrusting in hard, Castiel bottomed out again, and he earned a half-gasped "Fuck!"

They worked in tandem, wanting to be able to do more, to touch more, to see more, but the small area where the confessional screen used to reside wasn't large enough to accommodate a hand, and any kiss would be awkward and unfulfilled.

Finally, Father Castiel brushed his sweaty hair from his forehead, leaned into the wall and whispered, "I can't hold on any longer."

Snorting, Dean replied wearily, "I've been holding on for you. Fuck."

Gathering his strength and shoving home, the priest came deep inside Dean's ass. Shot after shot of hot liquid spurted, Father Castiel's hips bucking with each one. He was positively wrecked as his body continued to shudder and shake, the name of his confessor cracking as he held back a shout.

Dean came unfettered by a latex barrier. Breaking, he probably looked the hot mess he felt like. Spilling into his hand and onto the floor, Father Castiel's name slipped from his lips in a reverent curse, his tone leading somewhere he wasn't able to comprehend as his knees buckled.

The men gathered themselves together, their euphoria fading as their paranoia grew. Did the churchgoers know? Did the other priest know? Did Sam know?

They redressed and took care of their contraband. After they stole an awkward kiss through the hole, Father Castiel replaced the screen and advised Dean to say fifty Hail Marys and something else he forgot through his freshly-fucked haze.

As they both went to open their respective confessional doors, they muttered in tandem, "I'm going to hell for that."


End file.
